For Love Or Money
by bingblot
Summary: "I forget sometimes how freaking rich you are." Castle sets up a trust for Sarah Grace, which leads to him and Kate having a conversation about just how rich Castle is. A S7 one-shot.


Disclaimer: All things "Castle" belong to the powers that be over at ABC.

Author's Note: In part written in response to a request from JAG'ed Bones in the Casckett to have Kate find out just how rich Castle really is—and after hearing about Ryan working night jobs to help pay for Sarah Grace, I decided that Castle had to do something about it. Taking place sometime before 7x10 "Bad Santa."

**For Love Or Money**

"Castle."

Castle turned at the sound of Ryan's voice, knowing automatically from the sound of the detective's voice that something wasn't right and then saw the envelope in Ryan's hand and understood. Oh, right, that. He'd been expecting Ryan to find that any time today since he'd first slipped it into Ryan's drawer that morning.

He went for ignorance first, automatically. "What's up, Ryan?"

"What the hell is this?"

Castle rapidly revised his original intention of playing dumb—Ryan's tone and his words, to say nothing of his expression, telegraphed all too clearly that, for once, Ryan wasn't going to be the soft touch, the more easy-going, quicker-to-laugh detective of the team.

It had been a stupid idea anyway. This wasn't funny; nothing about this was funny.

He sobered. "It's a gift."

"I. Don't. Need. Charity. Castle." Ryan bit off each word sharply, no less forcefully for the fact that he kept his voice down, mindful of the fact that they were standing in the middle of the bullpen with other cops around.

Castle glanced around, suddenly thankful that Kate was for the moment entirely preoccupied with typing up a warrant request. Kate didn't know about this. He would tell her, of course, later, but he hadn't wanted to mention it before he talked to Ryan. Mostly because—well, mostly because if Ryan rejected it and shot him in response—okay, not shot him, not even at the worst did Castle ever think for a second that Ryan would shoot him—but just rejected it angrily, then there would be no need to mention it to Kate. And also a small part of him hadn't mentioned it to Kate because it was something he felt he needed to do for himself.

"It's not charity, Ryan," he shot back immediately. "It's just… it's something I can do, as your friend, so let me do this."

"Castle." Ryan's tone hadn't softened.

Castle let out a huff of frustrated breath. "Okay, look, we need to talk about this but not here. Where can we talk?"

It was the middle of the day so the break room and the conference rooms were out, as was the interrogation room.

"The property room," Ryan finally said.

The property room—oh, right. Castle thought back, remembered the hidden and cluttered back hallway and small room that consisted of the old random pieces of unclaimed property from closed cases that hadn't been catalogued or sent to storage yet, the place where Alexis had volunteered for those couple days years ago.

Ryan turned abruptly and stalked off and Castle followed, meeting Kate's questioning glance as he went. He made a face that meant, I'll tell you later, and she nodded slightly, her lips quirking just the tiniest bit at the corners, before returning her attention to her computer screen. He tucked away into a back corner the small flare of warmth at this little display of silent communication. He loved the sort of silent understanding he had with Kate. It was the sort of wordless communication he'd never experienced with anyone except for Alexis and, occasionally, with his Mother. And he loved it, loved this proof, as minor as it was, of how in tune to each other he and Kate were, even outside of theory building these days.

Ryan turned and faced him the moment they were in the narrow hallway outside the property room. "What the hell, Castle? I know you're richer than me but I can support my own kid, thank you very much."

"No, you can't," Castle shot back and then shut his mouth, immediately seeing from the look on Ryan's face that maybe that hadn't been the right thing to say. _Stupid, Rick._ He almost never flaunted his money around at the precinct—didn't want to—and the precinct was the one place, outside of his own home, where it didn't matter to anyone around him how much money he had. It was the one place outside of his home where, from the first, no one cared about what he was, only about who he was, where he was only judged based on how useful to the team he was.

He softened his tone. "Look, Espo mentioned that you're working night jobs and we all saw you with the lottery tickets last year and that's fine and understandable. I, of all people, know how much it costs to raise a kid in this City and for that matter, it's only become more expensive in the last 20 years since Alexis was born. You're a good provider and a great dad, but it's not a bad thing to accept that you might need a little bit of help. And I can help." He switched tactics. "Besides, if you'll look, the money's technically not for you; it's for Sarah Grace. You and Jenny are named as the trustees but it's really Sarah Grace's money for you to use on her behalf and take care of in her name," he explained. Which was true. He had initially considered just signing over the royalties from _Heat Rises_ over to Ryan himself but then reconsidered. That was even less likely to go over well than setting up a trust for Sarah Grace. If Castle knew anything at all about being a father, it was that a parent would do for their kids a lot that the parent would never dream of doing for their own sake. Ryan wouldn't accept money outright but for his daughter's sake—that, Ryan would probably do.

Ryan's expression had softened a little, as it always did at the mention of his daughter's name, but his tone remained stubborn and not at all accepting. "I didn't ask for this, Castle."

"I know you didn't but in this case, you don't need to. I'm your friend and we're on the same team." Castle paused and then went on, a little reluctantly, but it was the truth. "This was something I decided to do when Sarah Grace was born, while you and Espo were in that fire."

He saw Ryan's expression change, becoming an odd mixture of grim and yet uplifted at the same time at the memory of that day. He softened his tone as he went on. "I made up my mind while we were standing outside that factory, you know, decided that if, God forbid, you didn't make it out, I'd do this, make sure that Jenny and Sarah Grace never needed to worry about anything again." He paused. "You knew we would have taken care of them for you, right?"

Ryan's lips tightened but he nodded. "I knew," he said rather gruffly.

"Nothing we did could have made up for you, for the loss of a parent," he added with a little more personal note entering his tone. He let his lips twist rather wryly. "I, of all people, know that it's not really possible to make up for the loss of a parent so thank God you made it out, but it doesn't change the fact that I'd already decided to do this one thing for Sarah Grace. I told my accountant, publisher, and lawyer to get the ball rolling on this soon after she was born but it took a little while and then it was time for the wedding—the first wedding—and, well, what happened after that," he said, a little uncomfortably. Even now, he didn't like referring to his disappearance in so many words. "That's really the only reason it's taken so long and then Espo mentioned your second job and I realized I couldn't let this wait any longer. Sarah Grace doesn't just need money to support her, you know, she needs to spend time with her dad."

Ryan's expression stiffened up again. "I love Sarah Grace more than anything. Everything I do is for her."

"I know that, Ryan, but if you're working two jobs—and it's not like being a cop was ever really a 9 to 5 job to begin with, you're not going to have much time to spend with her and that's important. Somewhat less so now, when she's still so young and won't remember much of anything but she won't stay this young for long; soon, she's going to start remembering and you're going to want to be there for her for every moment, you're not going to want to miss any of it." Castle heard his own voice softening, some of his memories of Alexis from her baby and toddler years flooding into his brain. In spite of how hard it had been a lot of that time, taking care of Alexis on his own, in spite of his corrosive disappointment in Meredith from that time, those years with Alexis were some of the most precious memories of his life.

"I'm her dad, Castle. I should be able to provide for my own kid."

"You are and you can provide for her, Ryan. This—what I'm doing—is just giving you a little extra help, okay? It's not even that much," he added, prevaricating. He was momentarily thankful that the document outlining the basic terms of the trust left the amount unspecified. Not much, compared to the sum total of what he had, that was true. He'd been quite rich enough before but the success of the Nikki Heat books had, by now, more than ensured that he and his family would be more than well taken care of for the rest of not just his, but Alexis's, lifetime and that would be true even if he never published another book for the rest of his life. To the best of his recollection, the amount of money that was currently in that trust was somewhere north of $200,000—_Heat Rises_ had sold very well, as had all the Nikki Heat books. And since the terms of the trust were that any royalties _Heat Rises_ made in the future would be directed into the trust, the amount would increase over the years, if past experience was any indication, since every release of a new Nikki Heat book also pulled in new readers who then went back and got the previous books. He had toyed with the idea of signing over not just a portion of the royalties but all the royalties from _Heat Rises_ but had discarded that idea. As it was, he rather expected Ryan to have a minor heart attack when he found out the total amount of money involved. And he knew that there would be no way this side of hell that he'd be able to persuade Ryan to accept the amount of money that _Heat Rises_ had made in total, not even on Sarah Grace's behalf.

"You're really determined to do this, aren't you, Castle?" Ryan asked and Castle relaxed, hearing the rather wry agreement in the detective's voice.

"Yes, I am." Castle sobered. He didn't quite want to bring this up but he needed to, just to make Ryan understand, fully, that this really was not charity. Also to prevent Ryan from coming back and blowing up when he learned how much money was actually in the trust since he didn't doubt that Ryan would not view the sum as being "not much." It was, he knew, breaking every unspoken cop rule but, well, he wasn't a cop and this wasn't really about the job anyway. This was personal. He might be about to make Ryan really uncomfortable for a bit—but then again, maybe not, this being Ryan after all, and not Esposito.

"Look, Ryan, aside from anything else, you have to know that this isn't charity because I owe _you_ and I will owe you for the rest of my life and no amount of money could _ever_ make up for it."

Ryan frowned a little. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"A few years ago, when—when Beckett went after her sniper," Castle began, hearing the way his voice changed at the mention of that time, that day, and saw the way understanding dawned on Ryan's face. It was always Beckett when he thought about that time, even in his own mind, somehow. Partly because she had definitely been Beckett, all Beckett and not Kate at all, certainly not his Kate but also mostly because even in his head, he needed the invented distance of referring to her by her work name and not her first name. It didn't help—he was just as much in love with the Detective Beckett part of her as he was with the Kate part of her—but it was the only makeshift defense mechanism he had. Futile as it was. He met Ryan's eyes directly. "You saved Beckett's life." He paused and then repeated, letting a little of the emotion he always felt at the thought of that day bleed into his voice in a way that, at any other time, in front of any other man, he would have been embarrassed about, "You saved her life, Ryan. You had her back when I didn't and you _saved_ her." He paused and was momentarily thankful, again, that this was Ryan he was talking to and not Espo—because Ryan knew what it was like to be in love. "And in saving her, you saved me."

It was the stark, honest truth and more personal than he'd ever gotten in any conversation with either of the boys before. He'd only ever talked to Kate about this—a little—but even with Kate, he hadn't quite explained all of it. It hurt her to think about it, he knew, being an unhappy memory, even now, for both of them. And so he hadn't quite told Kate, or anyone else, that when he'd left her in her apartment that day, he'd fully expected to hear from Ryan or Espo in the next couple days that Beckett was—had been—that he'd lost her. God, even in his thoughts, he couldn't form the word, let alone really wrap his mind around the reality of a world without Kate Beckett in it. He'd faced the possibility of it in the endless hours after her shooting and he'd known then, without hyperbole, that the reality of it would kill something inside him. If her shooting had told him anything, it was the cold, stark truth that whether she ever loved him or not, whether he was even a part of her life or not, he needed to know that Kate Beckett was still alive in the world. It had been true even back then and was more true now, now that he knew what it was like to be with Kate, to be loved by Kate. Now that Kate was his _wife_.

And that day, the imagined scene of Beckett's fight with the sniper on the rooftop, was still the source of some of his nightmares—even from Beckett's rather brief description, his writer's mind could more than picture it. And besides, he'd seen the evidence of the bruises all over her body later that night.

"She's my partner too," Ryan offered quietly, somberly. "I couldn't just let her—that's what partners do."

"I know but you still saved her. And I'll never ever be able to pay you back for that, Kevin." He used Ryan's first name deliberately to signal just how serious, how sincere, he was.

"You don't owe me anything for that, Castle," Ryan blurted out. "You know you don't. That's not—I didn't do it for you," he finished bluntly but honestly. Of course he hadn't. He'd saved Beckett because it was just what Kevin Ryan did. He was a cop and, more than that, he was a good man; he protected people.

Castle shrugged a little. "I still owe you." He paused and then said with a little grin, "I thought about buying you a Ferrari but I decided you'd appreciate this more."

Ryan unbent enough to laugh. "Yeah. Plus I don't think a Ferrari can fit a car seat for a baby."

"It can probably fit one; I just don't know why anyone would really want to. A Ferrari's a lot of things but a good car for driving a baby around is not one of them," Castle returned easily.

Ryan grinned. "Yeah."

Castle sobered, meeting Ryan's eyes. "So, you'll take it?"

Ryan sighed a little, conflict and hesitation written all over his face. (A tiny part of Castle's brain commented that it wasn't surprising that Ryan was the worst poker player on the team.) He was silent for long enough that Castle started to feel distinctly uneasy; he'd thought that Ryan understood what he was saying about owing him for saving Kate but maybe that was limited to saying thanks and nothing else. Maybe Ryan's own brand of pride and stubbornness would win out after all.

But then Ryan straightened his shoulders. "For Sarah Grace," he said, nodding just once. "You're right that it'll help and what kind of dad would I be if I turned something down that will help make her life better?"

Castle relaxed a little and smiled. "Good. You and Jenny just need to sign some papers and it'll be all set. I'll get you the contact info for my lawyer and he can walk you through it."

He turned to head back to the bullpen.

"Castle."

He stopped and turned back around to see that Ryan hadn't moved.

"Thanks, Castle."

It was said lightly enough; in typical cop-way, Ryan could have been thanking Castle for picking up the last round of beers. But the expression was serious.

"Thank _you_, Ryan," Castle returned with just a slight emphasis. He didn't want to be thanked; he'd meant it when he said he would owe Ryan for the rest of his life.

Ryan nodded just slightly and then they both went back to the bullpen, Ryan clapping Castle briefly on the shoulder before he returned to his own desk and Castle to his chair beside Beckett's desk.

She glanced up at him as he sat down, quirking one eyebrow at him in a questioning glance.

"I'll tell you when we get home," he answered.

She nodded and then was distracted as her desk phone rang and she turned to answer it. "Beckett," she answered with her usual crisp tone but he saw the faint upward curve of her lips, one which he occasionally saw when she used her work name now, the one that still sent a little shock of thrilled realization go through him that, officially, outside of work, she was Kate Castle now. And she moved her hand in a seemingly idle motion until her pinky just lightly hooked around his for a moment, one of the subtle ways she permitted herself to touch him when they were in the precinct and working.

He sat back in his chair, idly wondering not for the first time when he'd become so attached to this uncomfortable piece of furniture. He could have—he knew he could have—replaced it at some point, brought in a new, more comfortable chair, just like he'd replaced the coffee machine years ago but something inside him didn't want to replace the chair. It was his chair. His, even with that uncomfortable spring that poked into his back when he leaned back in a certain way, even with the fact that the seat had lost whatever padding it had ever had. His chair—the one that the boys and Beckett had booby-trapped years ago when he'd been cursed by the mummy. No, he wasn't replacing the chair. Possibly not ever. He could laugh at himself—the old Richard Castle, the one before he met Kate, would not have sat in an uncomfortable chair every day for years, cared about his creature comforts too much. But then, at some point not long after he started shadowing her—and he honestly didn't remember when it had changed—spending time with Kate had come to mean more than any physical discomfort and then the memories he had of sitting in that chair, of watching Kate work, more than outweighed any discomfort.

They got sucked into their current case after that, constructing the timeline of the victim's last day and putting together a picture of his life. And things were normal—wonderfully normal—except that Ryan was a little more serious than usual, refrained from making any teasing quips when Castle started telling one of his admittedly-farfetched stories about the victim. (And this was one of those times when Castle knew his stories were farfetched; the case itself was strange in that the victim was seemingly so very bland, none of the usual odd behaviors that pointed to the murder, to a motive, so Castle had started to spin tales that were even wilder than usual, doing it partly for fun and partly because he loved to see the glint of amusement in Kate's eyes, the telltale way she'd bite the inside of her lip to keep from smiling.) Espo didn't even bother to hide his scoffing but Ryan, for once, didn't bother to join in the raillery. Castle caught Kate's rather puzzled glances after that but she didn't bring it up at the precinct.

They were treading water on their sparse leads and so he finally managed to persuade her to come home for a late dinner. His mother was out who-knew-where and Alexis had sent him a text to say she was studying in the library and would be home late. They spent dinner idly tossing around theories about the case while he wondered how to bring up the subject of the conversation with Ryan without it sounding incredibly abrupt. He hadn't come up with any ideas but as it turned out, she saved him the trouble.

They were comfortably curled up on the couch together, with her snugly tucked inside the circle of his arm, close enough that if she were any closer, she'd be sitting on his lap.

It was, he thought with the usual swirl of regret and unfocused guilt mingled in with tenderness that he always felt in noting some change related to his disappearance, another new facet of Kate this fall. Kate had proven to be more touchy-feely, more inclined to cuddle than he would ever have expected of her, but now, she was even more so. Whenever they were at home in the loft, she was almost always touching him somehow, as if she needed the physical contact to reassure her that he was really there. When they sat on the couch, whereas before she would usually be content curled up beside him but not necessarily touching him, now she always settled against him, leaning against him, liked to have his arm around her.

He didn't mind; he would never get enough of being so close to Kate, to being able to cuddle with Kate like this, but it was a poignant sort of happiness, this evidence of how much his disappearance had hurt his Kate.

He mentioned in passing a suggestion Ryan had made about the victim and Kate made a humming sound of acquiescence before adding, "Oh, that reminds me. What did you and Ryan talk about today? What made Ryan act so weird around you afterwards?"

He shifted and then carefully extricated himself from around her, putting down his glass of wine and going into his study and the bottom drawer of his desk where he kept the other copy of the same document he'd slipped into Ryan's desk, the one setting up the terms of the trust. Reappearing, he settled back next to her, tucking her in against him again before he handed her the papers. "This. I gave Ryan this."

She took the papers curiously, her eyes scanning it quickly, and he watched as first confusion and then surprise and then understanding flashed across her face in rapid succession.

"Castle… you—how much money is this, exactly?"

He hesitated for a split second. Admitting the actual dollar amount or the approximation of it would be a stark reminder of the difference in their resources and he knew perfectly well that she still had some issues with the extent of his wealth. Oh, she knew that he was rich, had a general knowledge of just how rich he was from his Ferrari to the house in the Hamptons, to say nothing of the loft, but they hadn't yet gone into the dollar amounts of his wealth, the real extent of his money. But she was his wife now; all he had was hers. And he didn't want anything, including his money, to come between them, ever. "Around $220,000, give or take a couple thousand," he answered.

And saw the way her jaw slackened a little. "Two hundred thousand…" she repeated slowly and then gaped at him. "You just gave Ryan more than 200,000 _dollars_?"

"Technically, I gave Sarah Grace that money," he corrected automatically. Her eyes narrowed at him and he repented his automatic impulse to focus on minor technicalities as a coping mechanism for his tension.

"And Ryan accepted this?"

"It took some persuasion but yeah, eventually he did." He paused and then rushed ahead, "I'm sorry I didn't mention it to you before now, tell you I was doing this when I set the wheels in motion for this, but I wasn't sure he'd take it and I didn't want to mention it in case Ryan just threw it back in my face." He didn't mention that it was something he felt he needed to do for Ryan, for saving Kate, didn't want to mention that day, didn't want to bring that up. He knew Kate and Ryan had talked, in the understated, half-sardonic way that cops tended to use when it came to things like this, knew that Kate had thanked Ryan, as much as cops ever did, for saving her that day. But in this, he wasn't a cop, could not be a cop. When he thought about Kate almost dying, he couldn't do it, couldn't engage in the morbid cop humor.

"You gave Ryan more than 200,000 dollars," she repeated again, before she blurted out, "I forget sometimes just how freaking rich you are."

The way she phrased that startled him into a brief laugh. "How freaking rich we are," he corrected her immediately. "What's mine is yours now, remember?" Everything he had was hers, would always be hers. They didn't have a pre-nup. His lawyer had made the suggestion on hearing about their engagement but had never brought it up again when Castle had firmly, and rather angrily, refused to even consider the idea. He hadn't had a pre-nup for Meredith either—in hindsight, a stupid decision—but he'd been too young and too naïve then to understand and, in fairness, he had also not been that rich then either since it had been before he'd started the Derrick Storm series which was really what had made his name, what had assured Black Pawn that he could continue to make money for them so they'd give him lucrative contracts and hefty advances. Until Derrick Storm, he'd been getting by, reasonably well admittedly, but still knowing his income was largely dependent on his next book and certainly wouldn't last long with the way Meredith had spent money. He had, of course, had a pre-nup when it came to Gina. With Kate, the very idea of a pre-nup had been ludicrous. He knew with everything in him that Kate was _it_ for him.

"Yeah but Castle, that's not—I can't even…" she huffed out a frustrated sigh, tipping her head back for a moment as she closed her eyes and then straightened up to meet his eyes again. "I mean, I grew up pretty well off, both my parents being lawyers and everything. We were comfortable; my parents could afford to send me to Stanford and then NYU and I got some money when… when my mom died that I've used to help pay for rent so I could live close to the precinct." She paused for a moment and then went on, "I knew I was privileged. It… was one of those things that made me different when I started at the Academy, my background. Ryan grew up in a normal, middle-class household but he has lots of siblings, you know, so things were stretched tight and Espo was definitely underprivileged, as they say. But you—the sort of money you can spend or give away without thinking about it—you bought an entire bar without blinking an eye. I just… have a hard time wrapping my brain around the kind of money you have." She stopped, made a small wry face at him. "Sorry. I suppose I'm being silly to freak out over your money now."

"Don't be sorry," he said immediately. "I sometimes think it's the first thing I loved about you."

She blinked at him, a faint smile curving her lips as usually happened whenever he randomly mentioned loving her. "I always thought the first thing you loved about me was my eyes."

Her eyes? "Why would you think that?"

"Because you complimented my eyes that first time I interrogated you and you haven't exactly made a secret about how much you like my eyes since then."

_You have gorgeous eyes. _

He had told her that in the interrogation room, hadn't he? He'd meant it—he tried to be sincere when he complimented a woman—but it had been, at the time, one of his usual stock of compliments to charm an attractive woman. He inwardly squirmed a little, embarrassed, not for the first time, when he remembered what an arrogant and rather shallow jackass he'd been when he'd first met her.

"Your eyes are beautiful," he told her, "and I don't think you need me to tell you that you're gorgeous but, seriously, Kate, I don't love you for your looks."

"You love me because I freak out about your money?" Her lips quirked into a teasing half-smile that had him sliding his hand around her jaw to kiss her because, really, there was no way he could not kiss her when she gave him that teasing smile. Her eyes lit up with the green sparks of laughter and, yes, love, and it occurred to his rather fuzzy mind that he might need to revise a little what he'd told her. He honestly didn't love her _because_ she was beautiful but he couldn't deny that he loved how gorgeous she was, how she still took his breath away at times with her loveliness, her hotness. And god, did he love her incredible, expressive eyes.

He drew back after a moment but kept his hand cupping her cheek. "Yes, actually. I love it that you don't really like knowing how rich I am and I love that you forget about it most of the time." It was true, he did love that about Kate. As much as the disparity in their financial situations occasionally raised uncomfortable issues with them, he did love Kate's general discomfort with the extent of his wealth. Meredith had spent his money as if it grew on trees and Gina, though not quite as spendthrift as Meredith was, had not made a secret out of the fact that she enjoyed having nice—and by nice, she'd meant expensive—things and had never been reticent about encouraging him to make a splash with his money, wanted it broadcast to the world how rich he was. So yes, he loved that Kate was the opposite of that. Kate, the woman who had sternly insisted that he not buy her a Christmas gift for their first Christmas together and then had set a price limit as to how much he would be permitted to spend on her gift for their first Valentine's Day together. (And he'd known that the limit Kate had set had still been rather higher than she'd been entirely comfortable with, even as it was also lower than he'd ever spent on a Valentine's Day gift before and certainly much lower than what he'd wanted to spend on his first Valentine's Day gift for Kate.)

"That's really the first thing you loved about me?"

"I think so," he answered honestly. "Although I started falling in love with you so long ago now that I can barely remember not loving you but yeah, the way you treated me because of my money was the first thing that really made me start seriously falling for you."

She frowned slightly. "The way I treated you because of your money? I didn't think I treated you differently because of your money at all."

He gave her a quick, reminiscent smile. "You didn't, Beckett, that was the point."

She laughed a little. "Really?"

He sobered. "When we met that night, you were probably the first person I'd met in years who didn't treat me differently because of my money and my fame."

Her smile faded. "Oh, Castle, that never even occurred to me."

He shrugged, assuming an automatic careless smile. "Being rich and famous made me really popular with just about everyone and it's not a hardship to have everyone like you."

She didn't smile and he knew that she'd seen straight through the façade—of course she had. This was Kate. He didn't know why he'd even bothered to try except that it was instinct, even now, even with Kate, to shrug off things that bothered him, to put on the insouciant act.

"That sounds really… lonely, Castle," was what she said and shifted on the couch to lean against him, tucking her head against his shoulder, the warm weight of her against him providing silent comfort.

"Lonely," he repeated, letting the last of the mask drop as he tightened his arm around her, brushing his lips against her hair. "Yeah, it was. I was going to say it was isolating in a weird way. Money and fame have this way of expanding your circle of acquaintances because you meet a lot of people, people start to feel they can come up to you and just start talking to you, and _everyone_ wants to be your friend. And sure, that can be fun a lot of the time. I like meeting new people; they give me ideas for characters or stories," he added honestly with a half-smile that she returned. "And I admit that for a long time, it went to my head, to have everyone like me—or seem to like me. It's flattering and nice to hear, to be told by everyone how funny you are, how charming, what a great writer you are." He paused. "But money and fame is also really isolating, has a way of narrowing the circle of real friends, people you can trust."

"At least you had Alexis and I'm sure Martha too."

He smiled, his expression softening, his heart warming as always at the mention of Alexis. "Yeah, I had Alexis. She was real, was the best thing in my life and yes, my mother might be dramatic but she was always real with me and Alexis and I've always trusted her. But they're family and that made it almost too easy for me to give up on trusting anyone outside of my family." He paused and smiled again, a grin this time. "And then I met you and you were…" He trailed off and just pressed his lips to her hair as, for a moment, he let himself get lost in the memory of their first real meeting, of the first weeks of shadowing Beckett, of those weeks when physical attraction and flirtation had slowly, gradually turned into more. Those first weeks when he'd started to _care_. When he could swear that her eyes had seen straight through his masks and into his very soul, showing him up in all his shallowness, his arrogance, and made him want to be more, made him want to be worthy of her.

"I was what, Castle?"

Kate had been—what? How could he describe what Kate had been for him back then? Real. A breath of fresh air. _Everything_. Everything he'd ever wanted, everything he'd never even known he needed. "You were… a gift," he finally answered. Because that really was it. Kate had been a gift, from Fate or the higher powers or whatever, bringing inspiration and a purpose and excitement into his life when he'd needed it most, when he'd started to find everything in his life with the exception of Alexis to be flat, stale, and unprofitable.

She let out a shaky breath. "Rick…"

But he went on before she could say anything else. "You didn't treat me differently, Kate; you didn't care that I was Richard Castle, best-selling author. More than that, you actively hated me—"

"I didn't hate you, Castle," she interrupted him. "I just thought you were really annoying." She paused and then shot him a teasing grin. "Come to think of it, I still think that."

He laughed and gave her a deliberately smacking kiss on the cheek before he sobered as he went on. "Well, close enough. You certainly didn't like me and more importantly, you let me see that you didn't like me, which is more than anyone had done in years. People don't let you see that they think you're a jerk when you're really rich and famous so I got away with being a jackass and no one called me on it. You did, and yeah, I admit that annoyed me at first but then I realized that it was a good thing. It meant that if and when I managed to make you like me, I would know, for absolute certain, that it was just _me_, that _I_ had done it, that it had nothing to do with my money or my reputation or what I could give you. And Kate, I loved that about you; I loved that about working with you at the precinct. You—and the boys and Lanie—none of you wanted anything from me and that meant a lot. I realize now that I'd started to expect that everyone I ever met wanted something from me, whether it was money or the doors I could open for them, whatever. You weren't like that; you didn't care how much money I had or want to use me for my connections." His voice softened. "You were—still are—my best friend, Kate, and it wouldn't have happened at all if you'd treated me differently because of my money."

She didn't respond immediately and then she said, "I didn't know it bothered you that much, that people treated you differently."

"Well, it's not like I go around complaining about it. It's not a big deal. I know how lucky I am. And in all honesty, I _like_ being rich," he admitted, adding, more seriously, "I know what it's like not to have enough money so I made up my mind a long time ago that I never wanted to go through that again, certainly never wanted Alexis to go through that. So the other stuff, it's annoying but as they say, it's a first-world problem."

She made a noncommittal noise that meant she understood—of course she did. She was silent for a moment and then abruptly broke the silence by asking, "Why _Heat Rises_?"

He blinked and frowned at her. "What?"

"Why did you pick _Heat Rises_ to be the book Sarah Grace gets the royalties from and not any of the other Nikki Heat books or even the latest Derrick Storm books?"

"Because _Heat Rises_ is Captain Montgomery's book," he answered immediately, even if he'd never put the reason into so many words in his own head. He hadn't even thought about it; the moment he'd formulated the plan to sign over a cut of the royalties from one of his books, he'd always known it would be _Heat Rises_; it had never even entered his mind to consider any other book. "The other Nikki Heat books are yours but _Heat Rises_ is Captain Montgomery's and Ryan's part of the family so it had to be that one, had to be the one about our precinct family."

He saw the way her face softened, as it always did, at the mention of Captain Montgomery, the shadow of lingering grief and regret. "He would like that," she said softly and there was no need to specify who she was talking about.

"I think so," he agreed. Yes, Montgomery would appreciate the royalties of his book being given to Ryan's daughter. Montgomery who had loved his own girls so much, who had loved Evelyn so much and been so happy over Ryan's engagement to Jenny.

"Castle."

"Hmm."

"The two-hundred thousand—that's seriously only a quarter of the royalties from _Heat Rises_?"

"Well, a quarter of the royalties after Gina and Paula and Black Pawn took their share," he clarified.

"Oh my God, Castle, just how rich are you?"

Castle laughed and she scowled at him, although there was no real annoyance behind it. "Well, I can't afford to buy you a spaceship but if there's anything else you want, we can talk."

She laughed. "Oh darn and here I was going to ask for a space shuttle so we can go visit your property on the moon."

He grinned. "That would be awesome but sadly, even I have to admit I can't really afford that yet." He added more seriously, "I don't know the actual dollar amount of how much money we have off the top of my head. We'll have to talk to my accountant if you really want to know." He paused. "Come to think of it, you should probably meet my accountant just so he can answer any other questions you might have, about how much money we have and anything else."

She made a small face. "Mm, can we wait on that? Just until I get more used to the idea of having so much money available?"

"Of course, Kate."

She sobered, another emotion he couldn't quite identify crossing her face, as some other thought occurred to her. She hesitated, visibly debating with herself, before she asked, "Castle, can I ask you something?"

"Anything," he answered automatically and truthfully.

She hesitated again but then began, a little slowly, "This summer, when you were… gone…"

He inwardly flinched even as he stiffened in spite of himself. Kate rarely referred to the summer, to the time he'd been missing, partly because, he suspected, the memory of it still hurt too much and partly because there were still too many unanswered, unanswerable questions lingering about his disappearance and because she didn't want to worry him or upset him.

"Your lawyer came to see us, maybe about a week before you… were found…"

He had a bad feeling about this. Not for the first time, he reflected that it was no wonder so many people disliked lawyers; most people never saw a lawyer unless something was very wrong so people associated lawyers with bad times, bad things happening—death or divorce or accidents or losing one's job.

"He… he said he wanted to let us know… uh, what our options would be to… have you declared—if we wanted to have your will approved so it would go into effect."

He understood what Kate wasn't saying and tried not to be angry at his lawyer. For even suggesting that his family might have him declared legally dead to get his will approved by the probate court. It was, after all, a lawyer's job to do this.

"Remind me to give Dan a hard time the next time I talk to him for being so eager to kill me off," he tried to joke but knew his voice had a little of an edge to it. He knew Dan was doing his job, being responsible about things, by coming to talk to his family while he'd been missing—reminded himself that he liked Dan personally as well as on a professional level—but he also could imagine how much pain the visit must have caused Kate and Alexis and his mother.

And then a corner of his brain spoke up reminding him of the Mark Twain quote about rumors of his death being greatly exaggerated and he bit back an automatic snicker, feeling somewhat restored to himself.

Castle blinked and stared a little as Kate actually managed a small smile—what on earth was there to smile about in that situation?—before she went on, "You should have seen Martha, Castle. She was great. She drew herself up and just _looked_ at him for a long minute and then she told him, with terrible politeness, that we appreciated his time but had no need of his assistance as you were most certainly not dead."

Kate stumbled almost imperceptibly over the word _dead_, distracting him a little from the thought that he rather wished he could have witnessed this scene somehow. He could imagine his mother, in full-on dramatic pose and expression and tone, playing the grande dame laying down the law, as if she were the Dowager Countess of Grantham in _Downton Abbey_.

"He mentioned that Alexis and I were the principal beneficiaries of your will." She paused and then said, "You didn't tell me that you'd already changed your will to include me, Castle. Why didn't you ever mention it?"

He froze, suddenly remembering. "Oh. Right. I… uh… didn't mention that I'd changed my will to include you because, well, at the time weweren'ttogetheryet," he finished in a rush.

She stared at him. "You—Castle, you changed your will to include me when we weren't together?"

"Um, yeah, I did," he admitted. He'd never imagined he would ever tell Kate this, considering everything that had happened since then, but it was out now.

"Why—_when_ did you do this?"

"It was after that dirty bomb case."

A shadow crossed her face at the mention of that time and he felt the small instinctive shiver go through her. Even with all they'd been through since then—certainly he couldn't say that case was anywhere close to being the hardest one they'd worked on—but even so, he couldn't think about that time without a little reflexive shiver either from remembering the bone-chilling cold of that freezer.

"We almost died, Kate, and after that, I… realized that I should update my will just in case."

"You changed your will to include me that long ago?"

He managed a small shrug. "I already loved you, Kate, and isn't a will supposed to represent the people you love?" He felt a small pinch of remembered hurt from that time, from all those months, when there'd been so much more he wanted to give Kate that she hadn't allowed. Left unsaid that while money had been the least of what he wanted to give Kate, he'd updated his will because he'd thought that money was still something he could give Kate and there was even a chance that she would accept the money if it was left to her after he was gone. On the thought, the memory, he found himself blurting out something he hadn't meant to say, "I wrote you a letter." He closed his mouth. Damn it. He really needed to work on restoring his brain-to-mouth filter when it came to Kate. Talking to Kate about things was one thing but even so, he didn't want to be spilling every thought he had. After so many years of hiding his real thoughts and feelings from Kate, it was as if now that he no longer needed to do that, he'd lost the ability to hide his feelings altogether, even when he wanted to.

She blinked and frowned. "When?"

"After I changed my will. It was to explain to you why I'd done it."

"Oh." She hesitated and then asked, "Do you still have it?"

He gaped at her. "The letter I wrote you back then? Why?"

She gave him a faint smile. "Curiosity," was all she said but he knew perfectly well it wasn't really what she meant.

"You want to read it now? But—but Kate, it's—I never intended you to read the letter unless I was dead," he blurted out incautiously. He definitely needed to restore his brain-to-mouth filter.

"I just… I want to know what you wrote to me, what you wanted to tell me, all those years ago." She paused and then added, "You know how much I love your words."

He gave in. He could never resist it whenever she said anything about loving his words, his writing. Damn, he really was so easy when it came to Kate. "If you're sure, Kate."

"I'm sure. That is, if you don't mind. I won't read it if you really don't want me to."

He didn't particularly want her to read it but from what he remembered of what he'd written, there was nothing in the letter he hadn't already told her by now. And he was momentarily amazed all over again at how far they'd come in these past years. "No, you can read it."

He pushed himself up, going to his safe. He knew the letter was still inside, with the latest copy of his will, when he'd last updated it after his close call in D.C. when he'd realized that being engaged wasn't enough, not for legal inheritance purposes. He had briefly toyed with the idea of destroying the letter since, after all, it wasn't needed anymore, but he was a writer and he saved everything he wrote, whether he ever intended for it to be read by anyone else or not. He found the envelope, addressed simply to Beckett, beneath the latest copy of his will, and returned to his spot next to her, handing her the envelope.

She hesitated before opening the envelope. "You really don't mind me reading this?"

"I wrote it for you. Just remember that I wrote it almost four years ago, before… well, before a lot of things happened."

She nodded and then opened the envelope, taking out the single sheet of paper inside.

_Dear Beckett, _

_If you're reading this letter, it's because something's happened and I'm no longer here. It's why I'm writing this letter, after all, just in case. Because there's a lot I want to say to you and I don't want to miss the chance to tell you these things. _

_If you're reading this letter, you'll know about the money I've left you in my will. I know you don't want it, Beckett, but please take it. I'm really rich and don't give me that look; I'm not saying it to sound arrogant but stating a fact. I have more money than I could really spend in a lifetime and the amount Alexis is going to get is already more than enough that she couldn't spend it in her lifetime either. So take the money, please. I want you to have it. _

_And if the reason you're reading this letter is because something happened to me because of a case we were working on, I will tell you now that it's not your fault. I know it's not; it can't be your fault because I know you and I know that you would have done anything and everything you could to keep me safe because it's just the kind of person you are. So don't blame yourself, Beckett. I've accepted that there are dangers involved in being your partner and already decided a long time ago that being your partner was worth the risk. I still think that. _

_I'm in love with you, Kate. I know you have a boyfriend and I know you don't love me but I want you to know that I love you. I've loved you for a long time now, longer than I've been willing to admit to myself even. You are the most extraordinary, amazing person I've ever met, with your intelligence and your determination and your humor and your compassion. Being your partner and your friend has been the greatest honor and privilege of my life, with the sole exception of being Alexis's father. And knowing you, spending all this time with you, has made me a better man. _

_Be happy, Kate. It's all I really want for you. I hoped—I dreamed of being the person to make you happy but even if I can't be, I want you to be happy. I don't know how to tell you this in person but since if you're reading this letter, I'm not around for you to maim or shoot, I'll just say it: you deserve to be happy and I don't think you are. I think you've convinced yourself somehow that you don't deserve to be happy because you haven't managed to solve your mother's case, because you haven't brought whoever ordered her death to justice. It's not true, Kate. You do deserve to be happy. You deserve to love and be loved and to laugh and enjoy all that life has to offer. It's what your mother would have wanted. I know I never met her but from everything I've heard about her, I know she loved you more than anything, loved you as much as I love Alexis, and that's how I know how your mother would feel. She would want you to be happy, not just content. She wouldn't want you to put your life on hold in any way. Be happy, Kate. Don't hold back from life or from love or from joy. _

_One last thing—look out for Alexis for me. I know my mother will take care of Alexis too but I want Alexis to have a more sane, responsible adult role model in her life and I can't think of a better one for her to have than you. _

_Thank you, Kate. Thank you for being my friend—probably the best friend I've ever had, in all honesty. Thank you for everything that you've taught me, for making me a better writer and a better father and a better man. _

_All my love, always, _

_Rick_

He'd rather expected reading what he'd written would be painful, the sting from the memories of the months of not being able to tell Kate how he felt, of seeing Kate with Dr. Motorcycle Boy, of wondering if Kate could ever love him. But no, he reread his own words and only felt… happy. Happy and lucky and, yes, a little smug. Because they were here now; they were _married_ and that was all the assurance of Kate's feelings he would ever need.

Kate let out a shaky breath and then she surged up and flattened her lips against his in a hard, even desperate kiss before she drew back only just enough to rest her forehead against his. "You are the one who makes me happy, Rick. No one has ever made me as happy as you do."

He kissed her again, softly this time. "I know. After all, I'm ruggedly handsome, charming, brilliant, and rich. What more could you possibly want?" he quipped, wanting to make her smile since he hated to see the stricken expression on her face, hated to see the pain in her eyes.

He was rewarded with a patented Beckett eye roll and a soft laugh. "Less vanity would be nice."

"I'm married to you. That would make any man vain."

It was a line, a cheesy one at that, but she laughed anyway—god, he loved how Kate laughed at even his bad jokes now—and settled her head against his shoulder.

"So Castle," she asked, humor in her voice, "can I ask, how much money did you leave me in your will four years ago just so I know what I missed out on by not having one of the boys shoot you when you annoyed me?"

"All the royalties from the Nikki Heat books which, at the time, amounted to a couple million dollars." He paused and then added, "Oh, and the Ferrari."

She made a choking sound and lifted her head to stare at him. "You left me the Ferrari in your will all those years ago?"

"Well, yeah. I didn't really want Alexis to drive it and after seeing the way you drove it that time we went to the club in that case about the lottery winner… you were so _hot_ that night, Kate, it fueled my fantasies for months so of course I wanted to leave you the Ferrari."

She quirked her eyebrows upwards giving him one of what he mentally termed her 'I-love-you-but-you're-insane' looks. "I can't decide if that's morbid and creepy or kind of sweet in a weird way."

He laughed. "I'm voting for the second option."

"The master of the macabre doesn't want to be morbid and creepy?"

He smirked. He loved it when Kate called him "the master of the macabre." It was the tagline moniker Black Pawn had come up with for publicity a while back, one he'd never particularly cared for, but he loved to hear Kate say it, loved the reminder that she was also a fan of his books. "Not unless it's describing one of my books."

She made a face at him. "I don't want Nikki to be described as being morbid and creepy."

He had to grin at that. He loved it when she said anything remotely possessive or protective of Nikki, always felt an inexplicable little thrill when she identified herself with her fictional alter-ego. He tugged her in just the last little bit closer so he could kiss her, one hand sliding up to tangle his fingers in her hair. And Kate—god, his stunning, delectable _Kate_—just melted against him, her body fitting so perfectly against his, as she returned the kiss with enthusiasm, her tongue playing with his, as she moaned a little deep in her throat—the sound that always went straight to his groin, the hottest, most erotic sound he'd ever heard.

He moved on, sliding his lips down her chin to her neck, finding the sensitive spot just above her pulse point and sucking lightly until she gasped and squirmed a little, pressing herself harder against him.

"Castle."

"Mm?" he mumbled interrogatively against her skin.

She let her head fall back, giving him more freedom to continue on with his ministrations to her neck. "God, Castle," she panted breathlessly, "I knew there was a reason I keep you around."

He laughed against her throat. "The sordid truth comes out, Beckett. You married me for the sex, didn't you?"

"Well, you knew I didn't marry you for your money so what other reason could I have had?" The question, the words, were all Beckett, her usual teasing, but the sound of her voice, all soft and breathy with arousal, that was Kate, _his_ Kate.

And the sound of it had him reversing direction, sliding his lips back up to her lips, kissing her hard and forcefully. He _loved_ being able to make Kate, his kickass Detective Beckett, sound so… soft, loved being able to make her make that noise that sounded almost like a purr.

"Castle. Bed," she gasped out and he grunted his agreement, his mouth a little too preoccupied searching out all the sensitive spots on her neck to respond in words. Instead, he picked her up, making her laugh even as she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he carried her through his office and into their bedroom.

And then they were falling together onto their bed and kissing and laughing at the impatience and fumbling of stripping out of their clothes while not wanting to stop touching the other. And then it was just skin against skin, lips and hands and teeth and tongues, until they both fell together into the warmth of sated, exhausted bliss.

Afterwards, she curled up next to him and he kept one arm slung around her, keeping her against him, not wanting to lose contact with her in spite of the satiation still buzzing along his every nerve ending. She stirred, one hand curving lightly, automatically around his arm, as he heard her mumble against his shoulder, "You were wrong."

He blinked and tried to muster up the energy to frown his complete confusion. "About what?"

"In your letter… you said I didn't love you back then… You were wrong," she murmured.

He shifted to tug her in the last little bit closer to him. "I know."

"Mm, good," she sighed.

He let his eyes close, peace settling over him as always when he was with Kate like this, calmed by the warmth of her body against his, by the steady cadence of her breathing.

He was tugged half out of sleep when she stirred a little, a last twitch of her body as she fell asleep, and later he wasn't quite sure if he actually heard or only dreamed of hearing a sleepy mumble. "Always loved you."

The words followed him into his dreams and made him smile.

_~The End~_

_A/N 2: I'm taking liberties with the visit of Castle's lawyer because no lawyer in their right mind would have tried to have Castle declared dead in absentia after two months but the idea of his visit and the information that Kate was already one of the main beneficiaries of Castle's will got into my head and wouldn't leave. _

_Thank you, as always, for reading. _


End file.
